


control

by necro



Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9043199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necro/pseuds/necro
Summary: so dirty, babe





	

**Author's Note:**

> happy fuckin holidays

Axl shoves them into Slash’s hotel room and they’re a mess of limbs and hard teeth, hands grabbing at what they can without breaking the hot kiss they’re both enveloped in. Without opening his eyes Axl can tell he has Slash against the door, his own slightly smaller frame trapping him there. It’s the hair, he concluded one day, that makes Slash look like a fucking giant. That whole mop of curled hair falls over his face like it was made to, and right now Axl can feel that hair against his face. Slash’s hands are occasionally tapping his chest like he’s trying to get Axl’s attention, like his skin isn’t thrumming, beating, breathing, _alive_ with the electricity flooding his system.

 

Slash makes a noise in his throat, annoyed the singer won’t back up and let him take off his jacket. Axl’s hands are snaking around his body, leaving hot trails to expand over Slash’s in their wake. He must mistake the noise for encouragement because his hands become enthusiastic, bolder as he slips his hands under Slash’s shirt. Slash doesn’t wanna stop, he just wants his damn jacket off.

 

Slash is surprised they managed to keep their hands off each other after they went backstage, got into the car waiting for them, and stood mutely in an elevator until they got to Slash’s floor. He didn’t expect Axl to follow along, wasn’t expecting the silence in the vehicle or the elevator. Slash couldn’t recall the conversation had with the rest of the guys, can’t remember where they are. As time passed be grew apprehensive, the feeling sinking under his skin and clawing at his bones, uneasiness settling at the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t even sure Axl was still there with him until he sighed, annoyed as Slash took his time to open his door.

 

Axl decides he wants his clothes gone, so he stands back and relishes in the sound that’s made when their lips part. He’s hurrying to get his pants off, he looks fucking great in them, but for now they belong on the floor. While Axl struggles with his belt Slash coolly slips off his jacket and shirt. He isn’t sure why they’re wearing so many layers right now. Slash is about to start taking off his belt when Axl, graceful as a fucking car crash, gets on his knees in front of him.

 

Whatever reluctance Slash has left is knocked out of him. It’s so rare Axl does this – _initiates_ this, Slash won’t waste time bullshitting around.

 

Axl is looking up at him, his stare lacking the usual edge of provocation. He has a small, nearly bashful, flirty smile on his mouth like he’s embarrassed.

 

‘ _Fuck that,_ ’ Slash thinks. Axl doesn’t get shy when they get together like this.

 

‘ _But why is he smiling?_ ’

 

Axl moves to Slash’s waist, thin fingers messing with his belt until it comes undone. He doesn’t push Slash’s pants off, just leaves them bunched above his knees. Slash has no time to wonder why Axl didn’t push his underwear down either because time and all coherent thought stop existing as Slash watches Axl nuzzle his head against his hip, inhaling his scent slowly. He closes his eyes for a second, head leisurely inching towards Slash’s crotch.

 

Slash can’t look away – Axl’s hair is clinging to his face, dried sweat making his body glow in the near darkness of the room. Axl’s eyes open, eyes glinting dangerously and smug; he’s caught Slash watching him. Axl mouths at the head of Slash’s dick through the material. Slash can see it twitch against his mouth, and the image is seared into his mind. He stores it away for later use, alone in the shower, in bed, with anyone else.

 

Axl won’t pull his briefs down, content with running his tongue on the cloth there with hooded eyes that are watching Slash’s face intently. He can’t see Slash’s face entirely, the room is still dark and the shadows are unforgiving, but he hopes Slash can see him. Before Slash can protest Axl pulls down the shorts, staring up at him. Axl’s eyes blink to Slash’s cock and he opens his mouth before he can stop himself.

 

Slash steadies himself by leaning against the door, shocked from the unexpected warm heat around the head of his dick. He watches Axl switch between bobbing his head slowly to licking the rest of his dick as his hands roam aimlessly on Slash’s body. He can feel every time Slash tenses, the muscles in his legs and abdomen jumping. Axl simply blinks up at him with his mouth stretched around his cock. When he feels Slash’s hips jerk involuntarily, Axl feels accomplished.

 

He starts to move down the rest of him, minding his teeth and trying to save as much saliva as he can. One of Slash’s hands end up in Axl’s hair, coaxing him along, while one of Axl’s hands is massaging Slash’s asscheek, trying to push more of him in quicker. It’s excruciating slow compared to the rushed kissing and hurried hands from earlier. Axl is yearning, wants to take all of Slash in, his mouth watering at how he must look right now, how Slash feels in his mouth, how he _tastes_.

 

Slash won’t push further than what Axl already has in his mouth – he’s their vocalist, what the fuck would happen if he accidentally fucks his voice to shit? As exciting and hot that would be, Slash doesn’t want to be responsible for ruining the next concert. He shallowly thrusts into Axl’s mouth, feeling his tongue work against his dick. Slash sighs, it’s almost a moan but the friction just isn’t there for him and he’s getting a little restless. He knows Axl is, too, from the way he tries to make Slash’s cock go deeper in his mouth. If they weren’t on tour, if they didn’t have to rush to catch a flight, if they had more time… Slash sighs again and thrusts a little harder than he means to, frustrated at the situation they’re in. Slash knows something’s wrong as soon as Axl’s shoulders twitch, only to be set straight immediately afterward. Axl’s fighting a cough back and Slash feels the vibrations of it on his dick.

 

He pulls out of his mouth too fast, Axl gives up on holding back and his body shakes from coughing.

 

“Fuck,” Axl groans quietly.

 

Slash grabs at Axl’s upper arms and pulls him up with no resistance. Before Axl can whine about it, he kisses him and rests his hands at Axl’s hips. He reflexively wraps his arms around Slash’s neck, effectively pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. Slash refuses to break this kiss so he pulls Axl down slightly so he can take off his pants the rest of the way. It isn’t easy, the legs getting caught on his foot.

 

When the offending articles are pooled at his feet, Slash rubs his palms up and down Axl’s sides, sending shivers to dance on his spine. He steps closer and pushes Axl, a silent command. Axl follows and steps back as he moves forward until the back of his knees hits the bed and he falls, taking Slash with him.

 

It’s an immediate reaction; once Axl’s on his back his legs open to welcome Slash there, like it’s where he belongs, like it’s stupid for him to be anywhere else. The kiss breaks for a second as Slash settles a knee there, so they can catch their breaths, then he’s swallowing the small noises Axl makes as he rubs his arms, his chest, his body like he’s rediscovering it. Axl’s hands glide from Slash’s shoulders to his hair and he’s always amazed, turned on at how responsive Slash gets. His body pushes up, trying to chase the feeling of Axl’s clipped nails scratching at his scalp. He moans instinctively, unable to stop himself from rubbing on Axl’s thigh.

 

Axl moans, eager to please, and grinds against Slash’s thigh in response. He tangles his hands in Slash’s hair and drags his nails against the grain, body resonating as Slash whimpers against his mouth. They break apart again, for more air, and Slash watches as Axl maps his face in the dark. His hips are still moving, like it’s an afterthought, like Axl isn’t in control of his movements, but the knowing smirk that slowly spreads on his face says otherwise.

 

Slash leans down to plant small kisses on Axl’s face, pleased when he turns his head to give Slash access to his neck. Axl’s hands are still in his hair, and Slash can feel them, is hyperaware of them resting against his skull. As he absently licks a stripe of skin, he gets an idea. He nips at Axl’s skin, lips pulsing as he feels Axl’s moan reverberate. Slash lets himself feel proud and smirks a little. If Axl feels the smile he doesn’t comment on it, turning his head to kiss Slash, piano fingers curling in his hair. Axl kisses the corner of his lips instead.

 

A small giggle tumbles its way out of Slash’s mouth. “Want the light on?”

 

He tries to move towards the lamp on the end table but is distracted by the warning hold on his hair.

 

“No, keep kissin’ me,” Axl mumbles as he mouths at Slash’s jawline.

 

Slash stays there and feels the grip on his hair relax and pet there almost apologetically, the move of the singer’s lips on his skin. Underneath him Axl’s body slowly grinds against the sheets. There’s a lot of ways this night could end, he realizes. He looks down to regard Axl and feels morose, he can’t see Axl properly.

 

He drops and blows a swift kiss to Axl’s cheek, apparently.

 

“Wanna look at you,” Slash says quietly, voice low like he’s trying to keep it a secret. He reaches at the lamp and quickly turns it on. The light isn’t as bright as it could be, casting slight shadows on the wall beside them, but it’ll do. As Slash looks back at Axl his eyes are wide and Slash can’t tell if his skin looks darker because of the shitty lighting or because he’s blushing. Their eyes meet for half a second before Axl looks away.

 

When Slash doesn’t move to kiss him, Axl briskly surges forward and pulls the man closer to him.

 

“Whatever,” Axl mutters and hides his face in Slash’s neck sheepishly. He’s kissing the skin there and nibbling occasionally, hoping to distract himself and Slash from whatever the hell that was.

 

Slash’s lips quirk with amusement. He gently pushes Axl down by his chest and is grateful when Axl doesn’t attempt to challenge him. Sparing him from further embarrassment Slash starts to leave kisses down his chest, appreciating the delicious sigh of relief as Axl allows himself to relax. He hesitates fleetingly before deciding, _fuck it_ , and smooths the hair dangling in front of Slash’s face back, admiring his face as he kisses down, past his naval.

 

Axl doesn’t feel guilty for the way his cock jumps as Slash kisses near it, around it, pointedly avoiding contact with his dick. He wants to grab his hair and fuck his mouth, wants to feel those hands holding his hips down as Slash sucks his cock slow, torturously slow, before letting him loose and wild.

 

Axl considers him for a second and wonders where Slash is going with this. Axl thought he had the reins but Slash is kissing him with purpose, intent. Axl doesn’t tug at his hair, just drops his arms to his sides. Axl doesn’t miss the heated lust brewing in Slash’s eyes before his hair falls into place. His nerves feel on end, standing at attention while the other man continues to kiss his skin like his intentions were pure and adoring from the start.

 

Slash’s hands rub his thighs before lifting them slowly, rubbing idly at Axl’s hamstrings. Slash waits, still mouthing lazy kisses on the inside of his thigh, until he’s least expecting it. When he feels Axl relax again he pushes his legs up, forcing them to bend and expose his ass. Axl isn’t given the time to react before Slash has his tongue flat against him and licks roughly over his asshole. His hips jerk, unable to go anywhere from the hold Slash has on his legs, and he gasps roughly as he chokes on air.

 

“Oh, _fuck_ –”

 

Axl has his fists bunched in the sheets, teeth biting down on the inside of his lip, and eyes screwed shut. He struggles to breathe, finding small bouts of air slipping through the noises he’s making. Axl feels as though everything in his body is happening at once, gathering in a bright crescendo at his dick. The pressure and stimulation from Slash’s tongue as it skirts around him before easing its way inside, only to go back out and lap at the hole itself is insufferable. Axl doesn’t know he’s trying to relieve some of the pressure at his dick until Slash slaps his hand away. Slash lowers his legs, looming over him and breathing deeply to intimidate and regulate his own hammering pulse.

 

“Don’t do that,” Slash chides lightly. He lets go of Axl’s legs and attempts to kiss him, is pleasantly surprised when Axl rises to meet him, a palm sliding tenderly on Slash’s face to map his face.

 

“Fuck me so I won’t have to.” Axl says as they part, breathless. His eyes flash with a dangerous intent like he doesn’t expect Slash to.

 

Slash gives him a dry smile before reaching for the end table. He rummages there and only finds the hotel advertising itself and a phonebook. He’s about to maneuver and grasp for the other end table when Axl’s hand knocks against his arm.

 

“What’re y’doin’?”

 

“Lube,” Slash says plainly. He can’t search the entire drawer without having to move from between Axl’s legs and he really doesn’t want that.

 

“Got some in my pants.” Axl says, absently stroking the length of Slash’s arms.

 

This causes Slash to look down at him. He takes a second to appreciate the soft attention resting on Axl’s face. Slash isn’t touching his dick so Axl looks charming and bored.

 

He chuckles softly, “What, you planned this? Where’re they?”

 

Axl’s mouth twitches, fighting a smile. “Where d’you think, dumbass? Floor.”

 

Slash finds himself annoyed by the fact he has to remove himself from this place, but he feels his erection throb impatiently. He huffs and strides to the door, grabbing at what clothes he can see and curses the both of them for wearing clothes at all. Soon he finds the bottle of lube and can’t stop the laugh bubbling out of his throat, the bottle is more than halfway gone.

 

“Been busy, Axl?” Slash is smiling openly now, thoroughly amused at the situation. It falls off his face as he hears Axl’s response, a muted groan and the sound of the bed sheets shifting against skin.

 

He turns to see Axl lying there with his hand on his dick, pumping slowly. The movement causes painted shadows on the wall to animate gently. His body squirms against the sheets, searching for friction against silk sheets and his own hand. Axl knows he’s watching, can feel the hungry stare sear into his skin, slicing to his core. It fuels him and he moans openly, making a show of it. He bends his knees, moving to look like he’s opening his legs for Slash again only to push them together, teasing him. Axl coyly sneaks an eye open, wondering when he shut them in the first place, to see Slash mesmerized. He blinks and his stare is intense, aware, and it startles a real moan out of Axl.

 

Slash stalks towards him, like he’s approaching a trapped animal, like Axl is prey, and the thought rushes straight to his dick. He squeezes experimentally and watches as Slash approaches him slowly.

 

“What did I tell you?” His voice is low and Axl shivers, cock jumping in his hand.

 

He exhales, suddenly full of air, and does his best to blink ignorantly at the beast in front of him.

 

“What?” His voice sounds strained in his ears, it’s a weak counter but he isn’t giving up so easily. His hand speeds up and Axl bites on his lip, trying to contain another moan from slipping past him.

 

Slash smiles, sardonic as he picks up on Axl’s game. He saunters closer, exaggerating the movement of his hips just enough to get Axl’s attention. He guesses it’s subconscious when Axl licks his lips in anticipation.

 

“I told you not to touch yourself.”

 

A mixture of emotions passes over Axl’s face; his eyes cloud with desire, his jaw slackens and his mouth opens, like he’s ready to give himself into Slash completely. As unexpected as it comes, it’s overtaken by a steel resolve, eyes hard and focused on Slash. Axl raises his chin defiantly and begins rubbing himself again.

 

“Make me.”

 

There’s that smile again, like he thinks this is a competition that he intends to win, like Slash will back down and declare him the champion. Slash options to watch as Axl slowly rakes his hand across his body, digging his nails in and scratching while he touches himself. If it wasn’t for the almost contemplative way he cocks his head at Slash while he watches, giving him another chance to say something, Slash would think his eyes are closed. Instead he waits until Axl feels like he can bring himself over the edge, watching as Axl’s chest flutters and body twists to follow the pleasure in his veins.

 

He’s softly slurring nonsense, hand losing any rhythm or pattern as his built up orgasm is biting at his heels. Axl’s eyes are closed this time and sweat makes his skin glisten. He’s absorbed in chasing this sensation, eager for the rush that will strike through him like lightning. Axl can feel the way his hips stutter, almost, almost there, when Slash grabs his wrist and pulls it away before he can reach his release.

 

Axl didn’t notice the way the bed dipped as Slash crawled towards him, watching quietly as the man writhed in pleasure. He’s dazed, like he’s been slapped in the face without a clear reason why. Axl’s mind is swimming through senses and when he manages to ground himself, Axl feels a cool, slicked finger enter him slowly. He can’t find it in himself to give a strong reaction, the small burn from the stretch pulling him back into the clouded, distracted thoughts. Axl’s body relaxes, relieved as the pressure in his cock becomes more manageable as the finger inside is joined by another. The fingers are moving slowly, working deeper inside at their own pace. It isn’t enough to satisfy him and he swirls his hips to emphasize this to Slash. He doesn’t miss the way Slash’s fingers loosely curl and straighten tentatively, like he’s unsure. The thought that Slash would be nervous here makes Axl laugh airily to himself.

 

He’s going to say something about it when Slash adds a third finger and all train of thought is interrupted by ‘ _Hell yeah, now we’re getting’ somewhere._ ’

 

Slash didn’t stretch him as much as he usually does before adding the digit but the push of his long fingers inside is _good_ , like a promise of what’s to come. Axl clenches around the fingers, pretending they’re Slash’s dick instead and groans. The fingers don’t fill him the way his cock does, don’t make his arms weak either, and Axl’s getting impatient. He tries to gather enough energy as he can to glare at Slash, but Slash isn’t looking at him.

 

Slash is on his knees at his side, leaning over him, all broad shoulders and impressive muscles. His hair is still in his face, but his head is tilted down to give the impression that Slash’s eyes are trained on the fingers thrusting inside Axl, like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, nowhere else he’d rather be than right there. Axl’s glare wavers until it falls apart and he drops his head back, overwhelmed. His hips are rocking against the fingers and he’s moaning under his breath. Axl doesn’t mind this, not entirely, but if he isn’t fucked properly soon he’s gonna have to bitch about it.

 

Slash’s fingers brush near, around, and close enough to his prostate that Axl begins to think he isn’t hitting that place on purpose. The accusation bubbling at his throat withers and dies as Slash carefully, deliberately presses hard against him there. Axl tries to thrust his hips down to meet his fingers, to push harder, when Slash’s fingers follow the movement and refuse him. When Axl falters to groan in disappointment, Slash thrusts back into him.

 

Slash turns his hand over and steadily fucks him. Axl reacts with his whole body, his face scrunches up and his back arches seductively. One of his hands is reaching back, elbow in the air as he holds on to a pillow while his other hand is grasping blindly at the sheets. Slash doesn’t hesitate to reach over and hold it and is stunned at how hard Axl grips back. Slash shifts his hand a few degrees and marvels at Axl, who moans openly, hips losing all finesse as he pushes back to meet Slash’s fingers.

 

“D’you want more?” Slash squeezes Axl’s hand to make sure Axl heard him. He curls the fingers inside of him too, just to be a bastard about it.

 

Axl nods persistently, anticipation flowing through him. Any previously thought out plan Axl had about tonight was thrown out the window after Slash put his tongue in his ass, he’s ready for what Slash has in store for him.

 

“Fuck yes,” Axl snaps when Slash doesn’t move. Surprise replaces the agitation on his face when Slash teases, flirting across Axl’s skin is his fourth finger and Slash settles it near his entrance. “ _Fuck_ , I – your _dick_ , not–”

 

Slash chuckles and grins at him, knowing Axl isn’t looking. He’s too busy trying to imagine taking _more_ of Slash inside him, wanting to feel how he’d break and come apart just with Slash’s hand. Slash is hazily aware of Axl squeezing back for a second as he pushes his body up to hover over him. Changing positions means his fingers fuck Axl at a different angle. The singer opens his eyes and a blaze of energy rushes through them both as they lock eyes. Slash smiles sweetly and lifts his chin, pretending to challenge the man below.

 

“Nah.”

 

Slash sets his arm and turns his hand, palm up, as he fucks Axl with a relentless pace. The hand holding Slash’s grows tighter, and Axl’s knees jerk up as he tries to gain some footing to push back against the thrusts. When he feels his wrist beginning to twinge he slows down and, to make up for the loss of speed, rubs the pad of his thumb underneath Axl’s balls, feeding off the hoarse moans that Axl produces.

 

Slash feels his cock throb, painfully hard and leaking precum. He can’t focus too much on Axl’s body or what he’s doing to him, or else he’ll fuck up the plan, and it’s a fucking good plan too so Slash just slightly curls his fingers and scissors him open. Axl’s mouth is letting out a stream of noise, full of bitten off curses and nonsensical strings of vowels. Slash doesn’t notice Axl’s hand is gone from his until he feels it grabbing at his arm.

 

“Sla–I w–I d–” Axl struggles for words against the breath he fights for as Slash continues his merciless thrusts.

 

Slash shushes him, thinking Axl is just babbling gibberish at him. “I’ve got you,” he adds reassuringly, just in case.

 

“ _No_ ,” Axl groans, his gasp a shrill thing. “Want – ‘m gonna – _fuck_!”

 

Slash knows what he wants, feels his own dick pulsate at the thought, but determinedly thrusts his fingers harder. He ignores the need to grab his cock and get them both off, together, just like this. Slash fists the sheet with his free hand, his mouth watering as he rakes his eyes over Axl’s sweat covered body. He finds Axl’s prostate again, if his loud cry is any indication, and he spreads the fingers inside of him just a little, enough for Axl to feel the burn. Axl’s muscles tense, the hand on Slash’s arm goes down, nails clawing his skin until he finds Slash’s hand.

 

His voice is hurried and strained. “Slash I can’t–”

 

Slash pulls out his fingers.

 

Axl’s body shakes as it recovers from the rush, his mind blank. His eyes are open wide and staring at the ceiling, shock evident on his features. He’s panting openly, shame nonexistent. Slash’s skin is singing, reveling in the pain from Axl scratching his arms and his reaction, and he moves to kiss at Axl’s face to keep himself busy. He doesn’t trust his hands so he places them on either side of Axl’s head. Slash’s heartbeat is loud in his ears as he peppers soft kisses on Axl’s skin.

 

 “What the fuck.” Axl says, breaking the silence. Shaking fingers start carding in Slash’s hair.

 

He smiles, knowing Axl can feel it as he kisses his temple.

 

“No, seriously, what the fuck?” There’s no venom behind his words, but he is looking for an explanation. His hands are still trembling when he brings them to Slash’s face and directs the kiss to his lips. There’s unmistakable heat in the kiss, Axl is ready to get back into business, but Slash pushes a gentle hand to Axl’s chest.

 

“Slow down, Ax.” He keeps the kiss brief, breaking it to brush chaste kisses on Axl’s skin. The hands in his hair are encouraging, pulling mildly every so often.

 

Axl sighs, annoyed. “We haven’t fucked in weeks, just stick your cock in and fuck me.”

 

“Do you trust me?” Slash continues kissing his skin, aware of the hand in his hair and how they stop for a split second, hesitating.

 

Axl breathes in, suspicious. “What do you mean?”

 

Slash doesn’t miss a beat. “Do you trust me?”

 

“No shit.” Axl pulls Slash’s head closer when he moves in to capture his lips. He licks Axl’s lips and hums when Axl tugs him back in. Instead Slash leans close to his ear, breath hot against the skin there.

 

“I’m gonna fuck you hard ‘til you’re about to cum and take it away from you, and when you can’t take it anymore, when you’re begging for my cock in your ass, _that’s_ when I’ll let you cum.”

 

Slash’s body feels too warm, too itchy against the silence in the room, and he’s suddenly conscious of how much of Axl’s space he’s occupying. It’s satisfying to know he made this frenetic tyrant speechless but it isn’t what he expected. He stays there anyway, catching his breath while he waits for a response.

 

He gets one some seconds later in the form of a muted groan; “already can’t take this anymore,” and Axl pushes Slash’s head to connect with his neck. Slash complies, skirting his teeth across pale skin, just because he was going to anyway.

 

“Just fuck me already, Jesus.” Axl’s hands are steadier now and he drags his nails on his head again. Slash moans around Axl’s skin, sucking a mark there in retaliation. At Axl’s indignant sniff Slash chuckles, raising to whisper in his ear again.

 

“I will.”

 

Slash kisses him quickly before Axl can retort. His hand travels down, tracing faint patterns in the skin he connects with. His fingers spread Axl’s hole open, a wave of perverted arousal rolls through him and Axl moans headily in his mouth, tongue hot and insistent as his hands race, greedy to claim as much of Slash’s back as he can.

 

Axl grunts as Slash presses two fingers in, not wanting to play this stupid game anymore. He bargains with himself; if Slash doesn’t fuck him in the next sixty seconds, he’s kicking the man out of his own hotel room. His short-tempered mental rant is interrupted by Slash slithering between his legs, a heavy hand on his thigh. Axl waits, his breathing nearly stopped, for Slash to make the first move. He’s waited this long, Slash is an idiot if he thinks Axl’s gonna work for it now.

 

The head of Slash’s dick pushes inside him, slow enough to be a form of torture. Axl takes a hiccupping breath, a quiet thing, and lowers his arms to wrap around Slash’s neck.

 

“ _Finally._ ”

 

Axl closes the distance between them once Slash is fully sheathed inside him. He can’t keep the hungry growl from escaping his mouth as he forces Slash’s mouth open, running his tongue along his teeth. Slash holds a slow pace, testing the waters since he knows Axl was right – it has been too long since they’ve done this. He knows Axl fucks girls and lets them suck his dick, boys too if he wants it, but this is different. He doesn’t let just anyone fuck him, and Slash knows he’s pushing it by teasing him like this. He doesn’t feel guilty though, as not only Axl’s body but the air surrounding him relaxes, like his foul mood has finally been put to rest.

 

He gives an experimental thrust, pulling out slowly then slamming back in. He relishes in the noise Axl makes against his mouth, feeling his lips vibrate when he does it again. Axl’s limbs are like vices around him, trapping him close without any escape route, like he’s expecting Slash to pull away again. He grins despite himself and thrusts quicker into Axl, pleased with the way his head is thrown back to expose his neck. Soon, all around them is the sound of skin slapping against skin – lewd, loud, unmistakable, and it fuels the fire in Slash’s hips, influencing him to fuck faster. Axl back is arched and Slash puts his hand between his shoulder blades to keep him up. His other hand is at the small of Axl’s back, holding him there while he establishes a vicious pace.

 

Axl feels crushed, enveloped in a space where time doesn’t exist without the punctuating thrust of Slash’s cock inside him. His legs, tightening around Slash’s body, are quivering with the pleasure gradually building up again his pelvis. Sliding a hand down to his dick would be pointless, Axl knows Slash would just slap it away, so he sinks his nails into Slash’s shoulder and holds on as his hips raise to meet Slash’s own, to shove his dick deeper inside.

 

Slash leans forward to give his skin a quick kiss, to distract himself from his own growing pleasure, when the movement causes him to plow into Axl’s prostate. Axl thrashes in his hold, a piercing gasp echoing in this place between them. He can’t make words, the sounds uncooperative with his throat and more ringing breaths flood around them.

 

“Y’close?” Slash’s eyes are forced shut, knowing he wouldn’t last if he looked at Axl right now. He feels the other man nod erratically at his neck, legs shuttering from the effort to keep them up. Axl’s hands that had slipped from the sweat gathering at Slash’s back abruptly pull up, nails digging into skin to draw him forward, bring him closer, fuck him harder.

 

Axl’s voice is clear, vulnerability lacing his words, “Slash I’m g–”

 

It hurts, God it hurts to pull out. Slash’s chest is swelling, he can feel a part of his balls shrivel up and die as Axl’s fist collides with the bed below.

 

“ _Fuck_!” His voice is loud and shatters the precious undefined moment around them. Slash is counting backwards from twenty in what he thinks is Russian. Axl’s body sags against his hands and Slash drops him, trying to create as much subtle distance between them as possible.

 

“What the fuck did you _do that_ for?” Axl is upset, the marks from his nails sting punishingly. Axl’s hips still seek purchase against something–anything to keep the friction going. Slash is looking up, not at him, and his mouth is moving wordlessly like he’s praying for mercy.

 

‘ _He should be_ ,’ Axl thinks dangerously. His body is alight, nerves heightened and frayed. A stiff wind would decide if he cums at that moment or not. Axl can feel the intense orgasm resting inside fade as Slash keeps fuckin’ staring at the ceiling.

 

“I’ll let you fuck my mouth if you don’t say anything right now.”

 

Slash calmly meets his eyes like he didn’t offer Axl a one-way ticket to post-fuck cigarettes and satisfaction. He could stay mad, cling to the familiar anger and get in Slash’s face about it, but decides the idea of fucking his throat hard enough to make his voice below a whisper is a good one.

 

Axl doesn’t let the plan transmit from his face, wears indifference coolly and resists shrugging his shoulders – _don’t oversell it_. Slash tugs gently at Axl’s arm to follow him to the edge of the bed like he’s made of glass, a precious porcelain that must be saved, like he’ll shatter on impact at the slightest pressure.

 

Axl shakes himself. _Let it go_.

 

“Remember,” Slash warns as he sinks to his knees, palms teasingly gliding over Axl’s thighs.

 

“Yeah, don’t pull, whatever.” Axl’s unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. He sighs, mumbling “you liked it when I did it earlier.”

 

Slash just shoots a look up at him and Axl can’t stop the way his stomach flutters a bit. Slash looks…good down there; he pushed his hair back and Axl can see his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth, and Axl wants. He licks his lips, knowing Slash can see it and arousal begins to gather incessantly from the look on his face.

 

Slash wastes no time in getting Axl’s dick in his mouth, minding his teeth and letting his tongue lick freely at whatever skin he can reach. He knows Axl will try to box him in again, keep him there and fuck his throat so he snakes his arms over Axl’s thighs, keeping his legs down, to rest at his back. Axl reads this as encouragement to go and he thrusts clumsily, unsure of what to do with his hands. He rights himself quickly, uses his legs to push his hips forward into Slash’s waiting mouth.

 

Slash, admittedly, is fond of the way a hard cock can go down his throat, enjoys the stream of cum that announces the end, loves the genuine smell of sweat and musk and _man_ that overrides his senses. Giving a blowjob isn’t rocket science and he knows he’s good at it. Slash allows himself to be distracted, goes limp and forces his throat to relax, and thinks. He can’t really enjoy this anyway because he’s worried Axl will somehow manage to best him, cum down his throat and leave Slash with a dick full of blood and ignore his pleas for a hand at least. He preoccupies his thoughts so he can stay focused, goal-oriented. If he’s busy thinking, Axl will believe this is what he was leading up to. If this is what Axl expects, he’ll fuck Slash’s throat with abandon. If he does that, this will be over quicker and Slash can go back to fucking him into the mattress and finally, finally be met with release.

 

Axl’s voice is shot from moaning and yelling, the only sounds he can make now are broken moans and choked breaths. He keeps his talkative mouth shut, trying to swallow his tongue so he doesn’t warn Slash when he’s about to cum this time. His fingers twitch, itching to wrap themselves in that mess of dark hair and pull, remind him who’s boss, who calls the shots when they fuck. He knows that’s what Slash assumes he’ll do, so he doesn’t. His hands are bunched at the edge of the mattress, feet planted firmly against the carpeted floor as he fucks into Slash’s mouth. He opens his eyes to watch, loving it when Slash is like this, on his knees for him.

 

He doesn’t expect Slash to be staring at his face, eyes burning with hunger and unclaimed desire. His eyes are trained on his and Axl feels faintly intimidated. His hips stutter as a thought tumbles out of the litany of half-formed sentences.

 

‘ _Is he the one calling the shots now?_ ’

 

Fueled by a sense of vague aggravation, Axl grits his teeth and thrusts harder, going deeper into Slash’s throat. The hands at his back jolt and Axl prides himself in the way Slash’s eyes widen. He thrusts again, this time he stays there and his toes curl at the feel of Slash’s throat struggling to work around him. Axl’s arms are clenched, head swirling as the sensation drowns everything else. He can tell his mouth is open but he isn’t aware of what’s coming out.

 

Slash regains his composure, alarmed and on edge at the turn of events. His throat convulses and Slash is failing to resist the ache in his cock, hands wavering at Axl’s back. He isn’t moving and Slash suddenly doesn’t see a reason why he shouldn’t let the singer shoot his load down his throat. He moans around Axl’s dick and that snaps whatever trance he was in, but he starts thrusting again and it’s distracting, awfully inconsiderate to Slash’s plan.

 

He remembers to swallow and feels drool start to gather in his mouth at the taste of precum. Slash won’t be able to hold back much longer, his skin jumps as his own hands rest at his thighs. He throws them onto Axl’s instead and it’s instantly a bad idea, because here he can feel the muscles in his thighs work as he thrusts forward into Slash’s pliant mouth. He moans again, aching for it, and Axl grunts above him.

 

It’s now or never, and Slash reconsiders.

 

He pulls off of Axl’s dick and gasps, throws his hands back to rest against carpet so he doesn’t grab his dick while the man above him groans. Slash is trying to will the pressure in his dick away by wishing it really hard when he registers that Axl is talking at him.

 

“...shit right now or I swear to God I’m gonna cut your dick off.” Axl isn’t seething, there’s hardly any bite in his bark. Axl sounds the way Slash feels – exhausted.

 

Slash manages to stand on wobbly legs, busying his hands by pushing Axl back on the bed, laughing breathlessly. He’s met with resistance, Axl’s tired, demanding glare doing shit all for the pulsing in his dick.

 

“I’m fuckin’ serious if you don’t fuck me ‘til I’m passed out I’ll shred your balls off.” Axl gives up eventually, letting himself be pushed back up the bed.

 

“Yeah,” Slash says as he reaches for the lube distractedly. His other hand is palming at the skin in front of him, every part of him itching to get inside Axl again. “Yeah, okay.”

 

He haphazardly pours the liquid on his fingers, ignoring Axl’s protesting groan as they enter him again. There’s no planned elegance to Slash’s movements anymore, his fingers thrust and spread apart quickly before pulling out. He uses what’s left on his fingers to coat his dick. Axl’s hips are off the bed, rotating in the air, provoking Slash.

 

They’re both impatient now; Slash is desperate to fuck, Axl is desperate to be fucked. This time, though, Slash does it his way.

 

Axl isn’t bitching anymore, just letting Slash position his body however he wants. He can see it in Slash’s eyes now, the clear, raw, animal instinct to fuck. Axl’s body shivers as he tries to look tempting, to give the off the impression of seduction in Slash’s direction, but he just hikes Axl’s leg up and leaves it on his shoulder. Axl raises his other leg to rest at Slash’s hip to ease the twinge that formed in his legs.

 

It’s been too damn long.

 

When Slash thrusts in he doesn’t wait for Axl to get comfortable, knows that the other man feeds off the pain as much as the pleasure he gets from this, and pulls back enough to make it count when he slams back in. His hands are on opposite sides of Axl’s head as he stares the man down, savoring the unadulterated way pleasure strikes across his face as Slash pumps inside him. It’s deeper this way, almost half of Axl’s body is off the bed, relying entirely on Slash to keep his hips up. One of Axl’s hands is grasping at Slash’s bicep, unable to do much else than hold on, with the other finds Slash’s hand and weasels its way under his iron grip.

 

Slash is fucking him slower than before with precise, intense thrusts, and Axl’s face is the definition of debauchery; hooded, fucked out eyes, jaw slack, mouth open wide, throaty moans and whimpers as Slash fucks him deep. Their faces are leveled so Slash doesn’t have to do much to look down into Axl’s eyes. Slash swallows roughly and finds his throat tender.

 

“How’d y’feel?” He slurs out, thrusts becoming less organized by the second. His voice sounds gravelly and he can’t find it in himself to give a shit.

 

Axl just moans, a fleeting press of his hand and Slash wheezes a laugh, worn out. “Yeah.”

 

Axl can’t do shit, he knows Slash won’t leave this time, for sure, he can only watch and feel his atoms surge and combust every time Slash misses that spot in him by an inch, by a mile. Axl must’ve done something because suddenly Slash looks fond of him, briefly, before leaning down to kiss at him. The angle changes and Slash hits his prostate exactly. Axl’s vision crosses, whites, as a powerful shockwave of fucking magic sweeps across his whole body, making him vibrate from the intensity. He knows Slash felt it, can blurrily make out the recognition on his face as he thrusts, steadfast on the muscle there to give Axl that feeling again, and again, and again.

 

Axl’s legs are shaking violently, heels digging into Slash’s back, arms curled around Slash’s throat again, keeping him there. His eyes are squeezed shut and he sees colors and seasons and a mixture of emotion explode there, bright against the empty confines of his mind.

 

“ _Saul_ –”

 

Slash’s hips don’t falter, don’t miss a beat as Axl’s cum paints his body, ass clenching hard at the relief of pressure. He keeps fucking him, overwhelmed, unable to do anything else. Even if he could do something else, Slash finds he’s perfectly content with fucking Axl’s brains out. It’s like someone’s put a heavy towel over his senses, he knows Axl is tight around his cock, can feel the cold heels of his feet digging into his lower back, but it doesn’t occur to him that it’s happening before his eyes. Slash’s own personal hell is fucking Axl Rose, unable to cum at all, for eternity.

 

He opens his eyes, breathless for some reason, and the sight below him makes Slash grind his hips harder, faster, coordination failing him. Axl’s watching him, long red hair sprawled around his head like a fucking halo and his face is soft, reminiscent of an angel. His palms are up, after falling from Slash’s neck, near his face, a dark blush coating his skin. It’s a gorgeous contrast to the white cum on his chest and stomach. His legs are no longer held up, instead they lay open as Slash continues to fuck him messily. Axl is boneless, body sagged on the sweat slick sheets.

 

The sight of this, the feel of Axl’s ass squeezing tiredly around him, urging him over the edge, oversensitive, beautiful – Slash’s orgasm is roughly slammed into him. He fucks Axl through it, his hips stuttering to an eventual stop. Slash’s sense of time is blasted and he can’t tell what happens first; when he stops cumming, when he stops thrusting, or when the crooning pleasure fizzles out of his skin.

 

The electricity in the air is suffocating, all around them and clinging heavy to their bones. It feels like a phantom shock on sensitive, sore skin, and Slash is struggling to catch his breath.

 

“Fuck,” he rasps despite this. His shoulders are threatening to crumble from fatigue so he lets himself drop, unsurprised as Axl follows his movement. Slash lands on his side, a hand resting on the sheet while his shoulder muscle continues to spasm. Axl grabs absently at his hand and lazily shuffles towards him. Despite the hardness of his eyes, the way he unforgivingly picks and chooses his words to slice painfully when someone’s at their most vulnerable whenever they piss him off, Axl is a cuddler.

 

“Fuck,” Axl echoes, voice quiet. His voice is raw and Slash immediately recoils at the sound. He’s gonna get shit from the guys, he knows it. Slash finds that he can’t really bring himself to care, though, as he watches Axl settle down beside him. Axl looks like he’s just endured the fucking of a lifetime. His arms are twitching, too. The palm connecting their skin is firm despite that, and Axl moves to nestle his head in the crook of Slash’s neck. Slash turns so he’s his back, giving Axl more space to rest his head, and sighs.

 

“Fuck,” Axl repeats, same awe and all. Slash can’t help the smug grin that breaks across his face.

 

“Yeah,” he answers and isn’t too surprised when his voice is hoarse, too. “You’re welcome.”

 

Axl doesn’t respond right away, just sinks himself further against Slash’s side. Slash doesn’t give a shit about the cum that’s sticking to his skin, finds himself wanting a smoke too, but he isn’t fucking moving until he absolutely has to. He reaches over and tries not to groan aloud at the soreness in his arms, muscles cramping already. He rests a hand in Axl’s hair, unable to control the quick flicker of affection that flashes on his face as Axl rises gently to encourage his hand there.

 

The silence is welcomed as both men fight against the tempt of sleep, wanting to milk this moment for what it’s worth and get some sense of regularity in their breathing.

 

Axl gets up, face still soft from afterglow, but his eyes are devoid of virtue. They’re full of deviance and mirth as an incredible, insatiable want burns steadily inside them.

 

“Let’s do that again,” Axl mutters, serious.

 

Slash inhales smoothly, watching him closely. Axl waits for a response, eyes never wavering from Slash’s own.

 

He pretends to think about it, like there was any other choice.


End file.
